


An Immortal Love

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Character Turned Into Vampire, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 17:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A McKirk 'Interview with a Vampire' AU, sort of. </p><p>Leonard was turned in seventeen-thirty-three, his story is long, and in places difficult to tell but Christopher Pike is eager to listen, Dictaphone in hand and ears at the ready. He's going to get more than he bargained for. </p><p>It started with James Kirk, does it end that way too?</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Immortal Love

“You’re a demonologist.” The man says, not moving away from the window, seemingly content to look out on the darkened San Franciscan streets. Christopher watches the man, enraptured by his demurred charm, his effortless poise, the scepticism in his voice even though he seems himself to be a form from another world.

“I’m a professor, at the university.” Christopher clarifies. “Demonology is a hobby of mine, something I do in my spare time.”

“You wrote a book.” The man counters, sounding simultaneously nonchalant and offended.

“Lots of people write books.” Christopher points out, he’s not entirely sure why this man has taken offence to his occupation but is slightly fearful of the repercussions of him having done so. This man feels dangerous, his presence in the room makes Christopher cold and his refusal to meet Christopher’s gaze makes him all the more wary.

“You wrote about my lover.” The man says. “And what you wrote was incorrect.”

“Your lover? The time frame of my collection was from 1504 to 1734, I’m sorry but perhaps you’ve-”

“James, he was your last entry.” The man huffs. “Don’t you believe what you write?”

“You’re a lover of James _Kirk_ , the vampire?” Christopher has to hold back his laugh. “The text was not meant to be taken as fact, I wrote it in response to a theological article I had read on demons, on the origins of witches and vampires, it was just a collection of case studies I had fielded together. James Kirk’s life, while vastly interesting, seems wholly unrealistic.”

“I am his _only_ lover.” The man corrects, apparently ignoring everything else Christopher has had to say. “I was in your _collection of case studies_ too, albeit, only for about a paragraph.” He says.

“Leonard McCoy?” Christopher wonders, supressing a gasp. Then the rational part of Christopher’s psyche kicks in and he laughs. “You nearly had me. You sell it well. Are you from the _Daily Theologian_ or a black lodge or something? Did Phil Boyce send you?” Christopher grins.

“You doubt me.” The man says. “It seems peculiar that a man would not believe the words that he writes. Even more peculiar that he refuses to believe what is right before his eyes.” The man turns from the window and allows his eyes to casually rake over Christopher; his eyes are a light brown on first glance, but they seem to turn darker and fill with ambers and greys when he sits across from Christopher at his desk.

“You really believe this don’t you, that you’re a vampire, _the_ Leonard McCoy that demonologists have been writing about for centuries?” Christopher asks.

“Perhaps you would believe me a little more if you heard my story, the true story, the one you and your fellow writers have been unable to attain?” The man asks. “Would it make you less uncomfortable if I turned on the light?”

“I thought vampires didn’t like the light.” Christopher says.

“Another incongruity within your book.” The man says with a smile. “We adore the light.”

Christopher doesn’t see him move but in a second the man has gone from sitting across the desk to standing behind him and the artificial brightness from the side lamp fills the room. There is a wonderful woody scent mingled with expensive aftershave that fills Christopher’s senses, and upon turning to face him Christopher is met with deathly white skin and those eyes, pupils blown and the thin slither of irises now the colour of gold.

“Oh my God.” Christopher says.

“He won’t be much help to you.” The man says. “But please, do not be frightened, if I wished to harm you I would have done so by now. I would just like the opportunity to rewrite our story.”

“Yours and James’?” Christopher clarifies and Leonard nods; he scrambles for a pen and paper as well as flicking on his Dictaphone and setting it closer to Leonard.

“How would you like me to begin? Perhaps in the manner of a fairy tale, once upon a time there lived a vampire, but we both know that there is no princess in this story, no magic apple or twittering birds. Perhaps you would like to know how we came to meet, James and I?” Leonard offers.

“You’re not lying to me, are you?” Christopher questions, eyes widening with fear.

“What reason do I have to lie?” Leonard counters. “It was seventeen thirty three, your book has that much correct at least, and indeed our story does begin in Savannah. The McCoy family were what the British were calling ‘the worthy poor’ and when it all started I had been living in the colony of Georgia for almost four months. My father, David McCoy, had been sent for to assist in the plight against the Spanish in the capacity of a doctor – a precious commodity in a place filled with little more than soldiers, convicts and slaves. But days after our arrival my father died from a disease in the blood, I myself was still mourning the loss of my wife to childbirth for she and the infant had only been buried a week before we boarded the ship to America.”

“And they called it the land of dreams.” Christopher says.

“They didn’t then.” Leonard counters with a gentle scoff. “I was only twenty four and my life already seemed finished, I, like my father, had been trained in medicine but had neither the will nor the inclination to put my skills to use. I was the master of an empty house and heart. I couldn’t bear their loss and I longed to be released from it. I sought refuge in drink, sought to squander my inheritance and my soul in the taverns and brothels. More than anything I sought death, believed that we would be the best of friends, two of the finest playmates. In a way, I was right…”

…

_Savannah, Georgia  
May 21 st, 1733_

“A gentleman ought to be careful where he wanders; there are dubious characters to be met on dark roads during these small hours of the morning.” A gentle voice is close behind him but Leonard is unable to see that which follows him. He feels for his dagger, sheathed under the layer of his waistcoat before turning to look at the road behind him, but sees nothing.

“I invite them to do as they would.” Leonard spits, disgust marring his handsome features. There is an answering laugh before a young man is suddenly walking beside him, he looks all of eighteen but has an antiquity to his eyes that is startling. Leonard continues to walk, slightly soothed by the fact that he can now see his potential attacker, his hair is fair, if he were a poet Leonard would say the boy looks like some kind of fay, a wood imp perhaps, mischievous and bright, ethereal blue eyes are showcased in the moonlight but Leonard’s physician’s mind tells him there is something amiss with the pupil’s dilation.

“And if I would harm you?” The boy asks teasingly.

“You’re just a child.” Leonard laughs. “It is a more pressing concern to wonder why a young man of your station is walking alone down an alley with the reputation of this one.”

“Maybe he’s lonely.” The boy says, fixing Leonard with a coquettish gaze and a soft, easy smile.

“You’re foolish.” Leonard admonishes gently. “But it seems only right to offer myself as escort to see you safely home and perhaps engrain some sense into your imprudent mind.”

“You’re very gracious.” The boy says with a playful satire in his tone and Leonard cannot help but smile.

“It has often been said.” Leonard huffs, rolling his eyes at the boy’s amusement, perhaps he rarely receives attention and is thus pleased to have ensnared Leonard into conversation. Although, with eyes as blue and pretty as his, Leonard doesn’t understand how that could be the case.

“And you’re certain you're up to the challenge?” The boy wonders, eyes still glinting mischievously.

“I should bid you worry about your own capacity to undertake my company.” Leonard huffs. “What’s your name, child?”

“My name is James and I am _not_ a child.” The boy, James, insists.

“Oh?” Leonard says. “And where is James the not-child from?”

“Around.” James breathes with a smirk. “Everywhere.”

“I’ve never been everywhere, myself.” Leonard chuckles.

“I could show you.” James offers.

“What would you show me?” Leonard wonders, realising they have stopped and are stood facing each other, entirely too close in the eyes of propriety.

“Things you've never seen, places you’ve never been, never even heard of.” James promises.

“Sounds exciting.” Leonard scoffs.  

“It is.” James encourages, putting his hand in Leonard’s. “And frightening.”

“I'm not afraid.” Leonard says, squeezing James’ hand. “My bones are all I have left in this world, so show me James, show me your world.” James smiles a heart-warming smile and closes his eyes.

“Close your eyes.” James whispers and Leonard does. He isn’t afraid of James even when he realises he is going to die. Even when the first prick of sharp canines pierce his neck and blood is drained from the arteries Leonard has always been taught to preserve. His world fades to black and he is thankful.

…

When Leonard awakens, with the blonde haired fay resting his head over Leonard’s chest, he believes himself in heaven. They are laid across a bed unfamiliar to Leonard and the room is pulled into darkness by the heavy velvet curtains lining each window. Everything seems so decedent, perhaps James is not a fairy but instead a young prince. Looking down over James Leonard realises his chest does not rise and fall as the human chest is so inclined to do and he can feel no heart beat against his bare abdomen. Then he notices these oddities in his own body and startles away from James’ form, pulling the sheet around his waist to cover a nudity he did not consent to. James gracefully lifts his head from the covers and watches Leonard with adoring eyes.

“Bones.” He grins. “Come back to bed.”

“You little heathen.” Leonard hisses. “What have you done to me? What have you done to me you little monster, you harlot!”

“I gave you life, for I _do_ wish to show you my world.” He replies. “I am neither a harlot nor a monster; I am a vampire and now, so are you.”

“A vampire? Why would you choose me?” Leonard asks, sitting on the edge of the bed, frowning at James in both disgust and confusion.  

“I’ve watched you. Since you arrived on _The Anne_ , you were so full of sorrow but with such potential for life. You are the Hephaiston to my Alexander and together we will triumph over the world.” James assures him.

“You are versed in the history of Rome?” Leonard asks, both awestruck and intrigued. Indeed, James is neither a mere sprite nor a fresh-faced prince, it would seem, but an intellectual worth more than the blooming adolescent body implies.

“It was a popular past time during the _Renaissance_.” James says, inflecting his voice with a French lilt that sends a shiver through Leonard’s body. “Would you like to know what else I learnt of the Romans?”

“I suppose you’ll tell me regardless.” Leonard says, leaning closer to James as James mimics his actions.

“It is in your benefit to know, for I learnt a certain fondness for the male anatomy.” James admits without blush or hesitation. “Perhaps you would let me show you that also.”

“You _are_ a harlot.” Leonard states, with little intonation either way. Then he pushes James back down onto the bed with a firm hand on his sternum. “But perhaps that will prove to be of some use to me.”

“I live to serve.” James leers.

…

“It didn’t take you long.” Christopher states.

“Excuse me?” Leonard pauses, pulling himself away from the waves of memories that threaten to overwhelm him.

“To sleep with him. You were a married upstanding doctor one minute and a rutting homosexual the next?” Christopher questions.

“You clearly have never seen James. Not only is the pull of a vampire’s allure almost addictive if one wants it to be, the bond formed between a sire and their sired is something primal, full of trust and love, which inevitably gives way to lust. James coveted me from afar and I may not have desired him upon our first meeting in the alleyway but once turned he became the centre of my universe. I only survived in orbit of him.” Leonard explains.

“And he you?” Christopher wonders.

“It is different for a sire, not that I speak from experience, to sire a human is the most treasured gift a vampire has, in doing so they effectively choose a mate for all eternity. It is a constant need to protect, to lavish with affection, to parade your sired around like the finest diamond. You can imagine I did not take well to the latter. James enjoyed my shyness, believed my coyness endearing.” Leonard says.

“Why do you use the past tense?” Christopher asks.

“Perhaps it would be wise for me to continue my story?”

…

_Savannah Georgia  
May 25 th, 1733_

They have lain together in that same big for days and come away knowing more about each other’s body than they have ever known on any other subject. But there is still more to learn, more to be taught. Leo finds himself enthralled by the night, enhanced by his vampiric senses, he can distinguish every shade of blue within James’ eyes, he can hear the far off crash of waves against the shore, he can smell James’ blood and cum around him and it makes him crave.

“I’m starved.” Leonard whispers into James’ throat.

“Then we must find a feast, my dear Bones.” James says. “Although, I fear the blood of others will now serve only to remind me how nothing can match the exquisite taste of you.”

“I can taste your blood too, on my tongue, in my soul.” Leonard says.

“And what does it taste like?” James wonders.

“Life.”

James is satisfied with Leonard’s answer and begrudgingly dresses them both in order to take him out to feed. They find a tavern, one Leonard is unfamiliar with, and they sit in a draperied area outside, lit only by the flickers of a fire. People are dancing, there are card games in progress and there is a pretty young woman over in the corner that appears to be selling her wares. James beckons her over with a smiles and a kiss to the temple, he puts two silver pieces into her palm and begins to drag his lips down her neck. Jealousy is kindled deep inside Leonard and as if he can feel it James looks up at him, blood tainting his lips and he draws Leonard’s head to the other side of her neck, caressing his nape as they both drain her dry. The hunger for blood is abated; the hunger for each other only grows.

“I don’t wish to kill.” Leonard says sometime during the next morning, when they are tangled in sheets, bedroomed darkened by the closed shutters. James is carding his fingers over Leonard’s ribs, tracing invisible patterns and murmuring Latin love poetry into Leonard’s shoulder blade.

“It is a necessity.” James whispers. “We kill to live.”

“Is a life of death any life at all?” Leonard asks. “You’ve damned my soul.”

“The soul is merely the invention of philanthropists, neither God nor Satan exists, it is but this one life and I have given yours to you for eternity.” James says, brushing a kiss to Leonard’s neck. “As a human you were beautiful but in this rebirth you are perfect.”

“You flatter me.” Leonard huffs. “You cannot use your pretty words to manipulate me, James; I pride myself on my convictions. I refuse to kill.”

“Then you will die.” James huffs but his gaze softens. “Foolish creature.” James licks a trail up to Leonard’s earlobe and nips as the soft skin there.

“You never play fair.” Leonard breathes.

“You’re just so tempting.” James smirks. “I’m forced to break the rules.”

“Or bend them to your every whim, as you do with me.” Leonard says.

“But you enjoy being bent to my every whim.” James says, hand travelling to cup the swell of Leonard’s buttocks.

“Is there any way to survive without taking human life?” Leonard asks, all business, arousal tightly coiled inside of his stomach but determinedly being ignored.

“We can live off the blood of animals but I dare you to go a week and tell me that version of the afterlife is worth living.” James says. “I forget how young you are, how much there is for you to learn. The blood of the already dead is like a poison, and as you’ve already guessed we must avoid sunlight, but they are our only weaknesses. When I was first turned I was frightened of the hunger too, but you will acclimatise Bones. I promise, it will not always pain you. Humans are so fragile, so fleeting, you are more worthy than they, and they are yours to be taken as you would.”

…

“That was how he saw the world.” Leonard explains. “I looked at anything mortal and saw how precious life was, condemning the fruitless guilt and passion that would let it slip through my fingers like sand. I was torn. James was different, he was sure of himself, practised. He was an old vampire, and wish age came wisdom. He had a dark gift that allowed him to feel the emotions of those around him, he told me that he was a compassionate child, but manipulative, in his second life this talent was enhanced, he could bend the emotions of humans.”

“Pathokinesis.” Christopher says and Leonard nods.

“That first evening he could feel my desperation to die and he twist it into the deepest want to live. I enjoyed indulging his little gift, enjoyed the feel of his will inside me. I learnt to overcome it in later years and he loved me all the more for doing so. I was impervious to him and thus I was unpredictable. James, though, was a creature of habit. Whenever we would go out to dine he would always take three. First a pretty little thing, the young lady of the house perhaps, then, a gilded gentleman who believed himself to be strong and valiant, James always enjoyed reducing these men to whimpering infants. He often enjoyed watching me with the men; he felt it was in some way erotic. But James had an anarchistic streak, a defiance in the face of authority and so he would finish with a dessert of aristocrat.”

“How long did this go on for?” Christopher asks.

“This routine lasted for as long as we stayed in Georgia. I would come to realise that James would do different things in turn with whatever city we travelled to. We left Georgia in seventeen forty and by then my blood lust matched his.” Leonard smirks.

“Did you ever develop a gift?” Christopher asks.

“That comes later. Wouldn’t want to ruin the story.” Leonard says.

“What about James, did he sire others? What about his sire?” Christopher prompts.

“He was sired in fifteen ninety-five, his sire was a mysterious man, James spoke of black ink and a foreign tongue. He turned James without asking and without respect, like a rabid beast, and left him to learn for himself what limitations were imposed upon our kind. If I were ever to come across him I would tear him limb from limb and burn him upon a pyre for all to see.” Leonard’s sudden surge of fury is quickly controlled and he continues. “And in answer to your first question, no, he never sired another, James said I was the only human he looked upon and knew he would still want me after an eternity.” Leonard explains.

…

_Elizabethtown, New Jersey  
October 4 th, 1746_

“The sight of you among all those bruised and bloodied bodies is more than my little heart can take.” James hisses, clambering over a lady’s legs in order to curl into Leonard’s chest, his pectoral muscles are smeared red and his lips are a livid scarlet from feeding. They had staged an orgy in guise of their own private banquet, and it was a roaring success. It was attended by the more risqué students from the newly christened Princeton University and a selection of high class whores to entice them. This was James’ new routine and it would be one he always looked back on with a swell of pride and a particularly naughty smile.

“They’re calling our little spree the Elizabethtown Massacre.” Leonard says.

“I’ve never partook in a massacre before.” James says offhandedly.

“Well then we will have to make it something to remember.”

…

_New Haven, Connecticut  
January 13 th, 1751_

Leonard has her head in his lap gently massaging her temples as James watches and sketches the scene on a sheet of paper, a sheet almost big enough to fill the entire desk. It appears Leonard’s dark gift works in a similar way to James’, with a positive and negative, working with opposites, he rushes a flood of warmth into her temples and watches as life floods back into her skin, the consumption abated and her body healthy once again.

“She looks beautiful.” James smiles, eyes shining with pride. Of course his doctor’s power would be the manipulation of life; James has control over the heart and Leonard over the body. What a beautiful revelation.

“Good enough to eat.” Leonard says, easily pulling her neck to his lips, her body still no match for his strength and she hang limp like a ragdoll in his grasp. James laughs his contentment when he hears the whimper escape her throat.

“Heal her again.” James pleads with a petulant smile. “I haven’t finished your drawing.”

Leonard’s places one of his surgeon’s hands around the wound at her throat and it closes under his ministrations, the woman laughs gently and places her hand over Leonard’s. “You’re kiss is sharp, lover.” She says and Leonard’s face falls, a frown knitting his brows together, eyes darkening. She frightens easily under his ire and tries to move from his lap but he holds her still with both hands suddenly clenched painfully into her shoulders.  He thinks of rotting flesh and dead flowers and her body begins to wilt against him.

“It’s a most glorious gift.” Jim states. “And you’re right.” He adds with a certain malevolence mingled with spite. “She is prettier dead.” 

…

_Paris, France  
April 8 th, 1778_

James is sucking the life from their Parisian waiter because they were brought the wrong vintage at dinner. “Your vengeance is startling.” Leonard sighs. “We don’t even drink wine.”

“It’s the principle, Bones.” James says, licking blood from his bottom lip. The bohemia feel this midnight café exudes is only highlighted by the fact no one gave a second glance when the two men walked through the doors, fingers linked. They’ve kept the company of a vampire coven full of artists and this place was recommended to them by a lady who claimed to have _dined_ with Cleopatra, James doubts its truth but likes her aspiration and so agreed to frequent the quant bistro once or twice. “He tasted all the sweeter for the corruption in his heart.”

“He wanted you and you broke him.” Leonard smiles gently.

“I am yours and his refusal to acknowledge that fact offends me.” James says, drawing Leonard into a long, filthy kiss that would make the young man turn in his grave, if they ever had the decency to bury their dinners.

“So it had nothing to do with the wine?” Leonard smirks when they finally pull apart, not needing to pause for breath is one of Leonard’s favourite things about vampirism, but it can also be one of the most distracting. 

…

_London, England  
November 22 nd, 1798_

“It’s cold here, and they’re insistent on hanging men for sodomy. Not only do I feel chilled by the rain but my desire for you is now to be abated.” James huffs. “Why ever did we leave Paris?”

“Because _you_ got us caught.” Leonard reminds him, looking up from between James’ parted legs; he places a quick kiss to James’ thigh before chuckling. “ _And_ we’ve come to England at a time when the King hates Americans.”

“Well you’ll just have to find a way to make me feel all better, won’t you?” James pouts before nearly choking on the gasp he emits when Leonard’s warm, wet mouth engulfs his cock.

…

_New York City, New York  
July 30 th, 1800_

Jim insisted it they return to America now that the new century was upon them, he wanted to play house and see how far they could push the boundaries of their faux humanity. They bought a house among the cities richest people and made no attempt to hide their relationship. Jim went about creating their new identities: Leo McCoy was a twenty four year old King’s College graduate of medicine who had been struck ill with photophobia and Jim Kirk was his twenty two, because eighteen was so blasé, year old boyfriend who made his name selling sketches of the human form and teaching Latin to the children of wealthy parents at all hours of the night.

They hosted the most diverse dinner parties, the old protestant aristocracy were invited, along with Jim’s actor friends and his fellow artists, finally coupled with the academics Jim had bewitched into feeling that they had studied alongside Leo. And even though they were ‘inverts’ people continued to return for more. Both young men were knowledgeable and full of interesting points of conversation; Leo on various scientific inventions and the advancement of medicine and Jim on politics and philosophy. They were mysterious; they did not entertain during the day and often travelled out of the city for days at a time. This was because not only had Jim decided that _distance lends enchantment_ but also because they decided not to feed from their new found acquaintances.

“I would like to stay here.” Leo says into Jim’s skin as he straddles the younger man’s body, rocking himself on Jim’s hardened member. Jim claws at Leo’s back and lays sloppy kisses to his cheek.

“Then here is where we shall stay.” Jim whispers. “Until you no longer favour it.”

…

“How long did you stay in New York?” Christopher asks.

“For almost ten years. Then people began to question why we hadn’t aged.” Leonard admits.

“But you were in Paris for twice as long.” Christopher says.

“Paris was different, it was fluid, we travelled around a lot in Paris.” Leonard counters with a small shake of his head. “In eighteen twenty we went back to Europe, we travelled from city to city, James wanted a change of pace, we both did, he wanted to make good on his promise to show me the world.”

“You’d been together nearly a century, didn’t you get bored of each other. It was just the two of you, wasn’t it lonely?” Christopher asks.

“The bond two vampires forge is greater than anything a human can imagine, we are not fickle creatures in terms of mates and a century, when you see the world the way we do, is not a very long time at all. We started in Italy, took to the streets of Rome like wanderers in the night, looked up at the stars from amidst the ruins of the Coliseum, we travelled from Venice to Naples, travelled through what was then the Austrian Empire and Bavaria, we even went as far as the Ottoman Empire. James wished to travel to the pyramids, said much of the world’s most interesting places were in Africa. By eighteen-ninety we had travelled over the entire continent, travelled to opiate dens in the far East, drank the blood of monks, massacred temples. We had learnt the globe together and it only served to bring us even closer.

“Any stories from your travels?” Christopher asks.

…

_Vatican City, Papal States  
August 20 th, 1823_

“I think it’s highly indecorous for you to fellate me in the Pope’s boudoir.” Leo says with a filthy smirk plastered across his face. Jim doesn’t say anything, just sucking slightly harder until his cheeks hollow out. Pope Pius VII is bled out on the grand armchair opposite the bed, bite marks on either side of his throat, but his eyes are rolled back into his head and there is almost a look of pleasure on his face. He had called them demons, prayed for his soul, but he hadn’t tried to fight them off, it was fortunate that Jim knew Latin; he had hissed blasphemous curses into the Pope’s ear that had made the man cower and cry.

Jim was all the more startling because he looked to all the world like a young, innocent angel, if anything he would be the face most would wish to look upon in their dying hour, the face that would tell them their prayers had been answered. In that way, he was deceptive, for he was not a pretty young cherub but Lucifer himself, come to fill the world with darkness and spite - doing so with a smile on his face.

…

_Unknown, Persia  
March 15 th, 1840_

Walking across the marbled courtyard which is illuminated only by the light of the moon, creating the perfectly clichéd romantic atmosphere, the blonde in Leo’s arm curls closer to him, not realising that his body temperature is the reason she feels suddenly cold. He throws his gaze to the left and watches as a similar blonde clutches Jim’s shoulders, moving the hair out of his eyes and placing a kiss to his cheek. The two women are the daughters of British Dukes, men in Persia for the sole purpose of spending their wealth. But they are as careless with their daughters as they are with their money and tonight they have left their most prize possessions in the grasp of two _fine young_ Americans, which will prove to be the worst mistake they have ever made.

Unbeknownst to the girl, Christine, Leo had rendered her friend’s vocal chords corrupt with a tumour vast enough to kill her before the week is through, Jim was sure Janice would be a screamer and he just didn’t want to deal with that tonight. Christine, in contrast, is a shy little thing, comforted by Leo’s gentlemanly way and the fact that his hands do not wander the way many men’s would. Janice, Jim’s young compadre, is far from chaste, encouraging Jim to nip at her neck and lick at the sweeter spots along her shoulder, keeping his head burrowed into her by a rough hand in his hair. Jim is impatient though, a fault he acknowledges, and pierces the girl’s skin before Leo’s even begun contemplating taking Christine’s life. Christine is intelligent beyond her station as a woman and Leo has learnt while she is not deviant in her sexuality she does deviate from her father’s expectation that she’d be a docile and passive wife, she reads medical texts and wishes to be a nursemaid or physician’s hand but of course it will never happen. Not only because her father would never allow it but because Leo is about to kill her.

Her ambition tastes sweet on his tongue.

Jim is not only impatient but he is also gluttonous and his hand tangles in Leo’s hair as his already blood-stained lips press against Christine’s shoulder. They drink until she’s almost past the point of no return and then Leo pulls away, dragging Jim off her too.

“Bones!” Jim hisses, missing the taste of her instantly.

“No.” Leo whispers. “She’s something Jim.” He says pulling his fingers over the wounds that ruin her body, giving the life he had almost stolen from her back.

“He’s had a flicker of conscience.” Jim spits. “She’ll expose us. Kill her, Bones, or I will.”

“But she’s so innocent, full of such potential. She reminds me of the fay I thought you to be when we first met.” Leo says gently, pulling Jim into a light kiss. But Jim’s darkest trait, his worst habit, is his fierce, unwavering jealousy towards those who genuinely capture Leo’s affection. And, as they continue to kiss Jim silently strangles the life out of Christine Chapel, only pulling away from Leo when he is more than certain her pulse has, once and for all, stopped.

_…_

_Jedda, Arabia  
January 4 th, 1846_

The nights are so warm that Jim walks around their small villa naked, even though his skin is still wrapped in a deathly chill. Leo is not an exhibitionist, he watches Jim from the reclined chaise lounge with a smile on his face and the melody of an ancient song falling from his lips, with a lute-like instrument the locals call an oud set over his chest, strings pluck by practiced, precise fingers.

This will forever be one of Leo’s most favourite nights to exist on Earth, one of the nights where he is most grateful that Jim had found him and bled into Leo the gift of everlasting life. Jim wanders through their home like a ghost, flitting from room to room, smiling impishly every time he catches Leo’s eyes on his body. He settles in between Leo’s thighs, chin resting on the dip above his navel, humming along with Leo as he tries to remember the words of that old Jacobean piece. Leo knows it is one of his favourites but with his lover singing it Jim seems to have forgotten how to think, mesmerised by the beauty of the man before him. Leo can, of course, share that sentiment.

When the song is finished Leo sets the oud aside, pulling Jim closer to him, Jim’s cheek coming to rest over Leo’s heart. The heart which does not beat.

“The ache never diminishes.” Jim says gently.

“The ache of what, darling?” Leo wonders.

“Of losing your heart beat.” Jim sighs, pressing his cheek closer – but there is still nothing. Jim has often told Leo that he had been able to hear his heartbeat from Charles Town; that was how he knew he needed to go to Georgia, that what he would find there would be unparalleled to anything else in this world. Jim has frequently told Leo that he had almost felt his own heart begin to beat upon walking with the human Leonard down that dark alleyway on the twenty first of May.

It is a loss Jim will always grieve. Never able to forget the feel of Leo’s pulse against his lips, forever regretting being the force that put an end to the thump-thump of his heart. On nights like these Leo makes sure Jim knows just how grateful he is, just how worth-while the sacrifice has been. And tonight, it starts with a kiss.

_…_

_Giza, Egypt  
May 20 th, 1859_

The lady Uhura is a Queen amongst her people but her dedication in learning the foreign tongue of the Empire has elevated her above the station of a mere savage in the eyes of the British.

She sees a darkness in Jim and thus refuses to trust him, refuses to be alone in a room with just him and his paramour for fear of what lies beneath that too-white skin, she doubts it is a soul. It saddens Jim, who ability to manipulate the human mind has never failed him and whose natural charm alone is usually enough to get past anyone’s tightly controlled barriers. Leo refuses to have his lover fall into this pitiful depression and so lures the lady Uhura into her palace library under the guise that they will spend the afternoon alone. But Jim is sat, slumped actually, upon a window ledge an old book about Mesopotamia limp in his grasp. He is staring out the window and upon seeing him Uhura tries to leave, tries to escape the clutch of Leo’s hand around her wrist. But she can’t. She writhes against him to flee but it is futile. Her screams draw Jim’s attention and he gracefully descends from the window ledge to kneel before her, whispering flimsy enchantments into the folds of her gown before he rips away a section of her corset and sinks his teeth into her stomach. Leo holds her upright, letting Jim drink his fill. The doctor’s hands travel round the dying body and come to rest in Jim’s hair, pulling him tighter to Uhura’s abdomen, not wanting a drop of her royal blood wasted.

Jim’s pupils are blown for days afterwards but they are too busy fleeing from their crimes to worry about what other humans might see when they look upon them.

_…_

_Manhattan, New York  
December 3 rd, 1878_

America was much changed since their last visit, perhaps more so because they themselves were so changed. Jim had insisted that they wait until then end of the Civil War before returning, Jim believed the destruction on the street would only render them vulnerable to the weaknesses of their kind and they could not afford to be found out what with New York such an integrated community, held together by telegrams and letters and the construction of the railway.

Leonard made money curing incurable ills in the dead of night in the back room of a Costa Nostra run Sicilian joint in an alley in Manhattan. The Sicilian’s appreciated that Leo spoke their regional dialect and with his dark eyes and dark hair many believed he could have been one of their own, they also appreciated his apparent God-given gift to save, especially with it being so heavily focused on their own people, many of whom were ill due to the conditions they faced on the boats over.

They were not so appreciative of Jim. The way he lingered around Leo, watching the patrons of the bar with a cold distaste and little respect. Jim was not in support of the way these uneducated peasants tried to run the ghettos of New York City, murdering easy targets and using sloppy methods to extort local businessmen.

“We murdered their Pope.” Leo would remind. “Perhaps it is the karmic force.”

“You’re letting them use your dark powers for _good_.” Jim snapped. “This is wholly ridiculous, we are the predators,  _they_ are the prey.”

“I’m staying as inconspicuous as I can while keeping this roof over our head!” Leo huffs.

“You’re being a fool.” Jim counters, storming out of their small two-room apartment.

_…_

“It wasn’t always marital bliss then?” Christopher asks.

“Of course not.” Leonard says. “We were two head strong men, we fought often, although fighting usually gave way to-”

“I can imagine.” Christopher laughs.

“As the turn of another century came about though it seemed we would find it more difficult to hide our true natures. People didn’t believe in our sensitivity to sunlight and attitudes towards homosexuality became fiercer all the time.” Leonard explains. “We were making ourselves outcasts without any means to do otherwise.”

…

_St Petersburg, Russia  
July 12 th, 1910_

They are held in a room full of mirrors. It is a grand ballroom; the ceiling is painted with beautiful murals of past Tsars and their consorts, framed with stain glass windows. Jim isn’t sure how they were caught he only knows they have three hours before the sun rises and they are set alight by its powerful rays. Leo is taking time to assess the mirrors, checking behind each one to look for trap doors and cellar hatches. He knew they had no business trusting the healer Rasputin, any man who claims to heal through prayer is clearly disingenuous.

Falling to his deceit would be a mighty shame.

Leo had only ever known camaraderie between other vampires but it seemed that this one took offence to their presence in his land and would only feel rightly served if they were reduced to two dust piles on the ballroom floor.

“The room appears empty.” Jim says watching the mirrors from his seat on the floor. “Do you think this is how the world sees us now?”

“Get up.” Leo huffs. “There is no time for morose poetry.”

“What are we to do, then? This room has no exit.” Jim growls.

“Of course it does, do you think they used witchcraft to get us inside?” Leo demands.

“At the hands of Grigori I wouldn’t know what to think.” Jim scoffs.

“These Russian aristocrats are so obsessed with the occult that there must be some secret escape from this room.” Leo murmurs, pulling on of the mirrors aside and sighing.

“They have probably sealed us in by bricking the grand entrance doors. Although with its lavish décor I would say this is a fitting tomb.” Jim says.

“Over there.” Leo says gently, there is a doorknob under the staircase.

“A doorknob without a door.” Jim scoffs. “How peculiar.”

…

_London, England  
April 20 th 1911_

“London is far more amiable this time around.” Jim grins as Leo walk side by side through Hyde Park, the gates were, for all intents and purposes, locked but as per usual Jim overlooks the rules in favour of spoiling Leo to a midnight stroll. “Maybe we should feast from the King.” Jim whispers conspiratorially.

“Perhaps in the weeks before we move on, but I would hate to draw undue attention to us now that we have just secured ourselves the most perfect little town house in South Kensington.” Leo states primly before kissing Jim’s temple and slipping his hand into the crook of Jim’s arm. The previous proprietor of their fancy new abode has been recently buried in Highgate Cemetery, he was a nice chap, a Scott by the name of Montgomery, he seemed to be an inventor of some kind and a drunk to boot. Jim had been able to tell the vintage of the whiskey he drank just from a few drops of the man’s blood and Jim wasn’t at all impressed. However, Scott, it seemed, had more money than propriety and was in fact part of the Aberdeenshire gentry, his house was almost spotless save for the basement where he spent the vast majority of his time and his cellar room, where he spent the rest of it.

“Quite right.” Jim says in a modern English accent, making Bones roll his eyes. “Quite right.”

…

“So you didn’t meet your demise in Russia?” Christopher wonders, scrawling notes onto his notepad. “But no one has recorded any trace of you since.”

“I meant what I said to James. We had it good, we couldn’t afford to expose ourselves. Times were changing.” Leonard explains.

“It’s more difficult to be a vampire now?” Christopher wonders.

“We could more easily conceal ourselves to a dark nightmare in the past, we could stay a myth. People are more suspicious now and they have ways of proving we exist. Other vampires would not be pleased if our deeds ended up in the New York Times and left them vulnerable to exposure too.” Leonard explains.

“But wouldn’t you want to be known, feared. You would be the most elusive serial killers.” Christopher says. “And the PD couldn’t really do much about it.”

“James tried that in the fifties. Read up on several prominent serial murders and set about designing his own. He liked reading about himself in the newspaper, seeing what the profilers made of him.” Leonard explains.

“How long have you been back in America?” Christopher wonders.

“Since forty two.” Leonard says.

“Are you going to tell me why you’ve been using past tense when you talk about James?” Christopher asks.

“To lure you into a false sense of security.” Bones says gently.

“Excuse me?” Christopher questions.

“You were under the impression he had been lost, and so you thought there would be an end point to our story. I also think you would have been a little less obliging if you had known my mate was hunting the streets of San Francisco while you and I enjoyed our leisurely chat. There isn’t an end to our story Chris.” Bones says the Georgian heritage of his accent stronger as he goes on. “I’m not a heart broken vampire who has lost his lover.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you think I’d care?” Christopher wonders.

“Jim fancies a return to the public eye.” Bones says glancing at the Dictaphone. “You’ll be his gateway.”

“Bones was wrong, you know.”  A voice says from beside the window. “We left Egypt in sixty three.”

“My mistake.” Bones shrugs gently, feral grin aimed at the window. Christopher’s heartbeat is almost audible in the too quiet room as he turns to face James who is perched on the window ledge.

“You’ve been here the entire time.” Christopher whispers.

“You should have realised professor, we do almost everything together. We’re immortal lovers after all.” Jim smirks, gracefully descending the window sill to stand before Christopher.

“San Francisco, California, October eleventh, two thousand and twelve.” It’s tomorrows date, Christopher realises. “Professor Christopher Pike found dead in his downtown office. The SFPD have yet to confirm the cause of death but reports suggest his neck was punctured and his blood drained, this appears to be a calculated attack however no murder weapon was found and thus far the murder cannot be traced. Also found at the scene of the crime a notepad and Dictaphone, the contents of which have not be disclosed to the public.” Bones voice is gentle now, just background sound as Christopher stares up into Jim’s eyes. He’s willing him to stay calm, _don’t fear_. He can feel Jim’s voice inside his head.

“They’ll no doubt leak the contents of our conversation and set about finding the two of us through those means. But it won’t matter. Even if they had our exact location at any given time it wouldn’t matter.” Jim explains.

“You don’t have to kill me to accomplish this.” Christopher says quickly. “I could take this to the media, I could-”

“It’s futile without _cold_ hard evidence.” Bones says.

“And _I_ , for one, am _famished_.” Jim purrs, leaning closer to Christopher’s neck. “You won’t feel a thing. I promise.”

“He’s a compulsive liar.” Bones counters from his sudden position behind Christopher. “But it’s alright, professor, we’ve got you.”

The feeling of sharp teeth sinking into the soft skin of his neck is unlike any pain he’s ever felt, and he’s slipped a disk before this. He can feel their hands entwined over his chest, they’re pressing against his thudding heart and a small moan escapes Jim and he drains his newest victim. Bones’ bite is steadier, more focused, his other hand resting comfortingly on the small of Christopher’s back. He falls into unconsciousness fairly quickly, although he doesn’t know what’s considered normal in this process. The last thing he hears is a little titter from Jim and the press of lips somewhere above him.

“I love you.” Jim growls.

“Always, James.” Bones says. “Always.” 


End file.
